Storytelling Hub With Alex

09/07/2025

THE MISSING PHONE (Episode 1)

The day started like any other. I woke up to the irritating vibration of my alarm at exactly 6:30 a.m., the familiar buzz under my pillow dragging me out of the little sleep I managed to get in our stuffy, always-hot room. My name is Collins, 20 years old, a second-year Sociology student at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Life on campus isn’t luxury—especially not in our hostel—but it has its vibe.

My room was a complete mess. It always was. Scattered books, leftover food packs, half-washed clothes hanging on nails driven into cracked walls, an empty indomie carton doubling as a stool. The air smelled like a confused mix of body spray, dirty laundry, and old spaghetti sauce. The ceiling fan creaked loudly every time it rotated, as though begging for retirement.

My roommate, Adebayo, was still snoring on the top bunk, his leg dangling awkwardly. We weren’t best friends or anything, but we had become something close over the past year. We shared food, gist, and, unfortunately, the same air.

After dragging myself to the overcrowded bathroom for a cold bucket bath, I returned to change and prepare for class. I remember clearly putting my phone back under my pillow. My Samsung Galaxy A32—my baby. That phone had my class notes, bank app, social media, all my pictures. Everything.

Classes were long and exhausting that day. From 8 a.m. to 5 p.m., one lecture hall to another, fighting for seats, dodging lecturers' questions. When I finally trudged back to the room, all I could think of was lying down and bingeing YouTube videos.

But as I lifted my pillow, my heart skipped.

No phone.

I checked again. Nothing.

I pulled off the bedsheet, threw my pillow across the room, flipped the mattress, and stared at the exposed wood underneath. Still nothing.

I felt my chest tighten.

I turned to Adebayo, who was lounging on his bunk, legs crossed, scrolling casually through his own phone like the world wasn’t crashing beneath me.

“Guy, you see my phone?” I asked, trying to sound calm.

He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Your phone? You no carry am go class?”

“No. I left it under my pillow.”

He got down from his bunk and started ‘helping’ me search. His movements felt exaggerated. He opened the locker, looked under the table, even checked the bathroom bucket like my phone had grown legs and gone for a bath.

“Omo, nawa o,” he said, his voice carrying this weird mix of sympathy and disbelief. “Maybe na those guys wey dey play draft outside. Maybe dem enter come carry am.”

I wasn’t convinced, but I nodded. My thoughts were all over the place. I remembered clearly using the phone to snooze the alarm. It didn’t make sense.

I barely slept that night. I lay on my back, staring at the cracked ceiling. My mind racing. Who could’ve taken it? Did I misplace it? Did someone sneak in while I was out?

But Adebayo was around, wasn’t he?

Or was he?

My room suddenly felt like a trap. Every familiar object started to look suspicious. And the one person I shared this space with... I started seeing him differently.

That night was the beginning of a long, bitter truth unraveling itself.
(To be continued...)

06/07/2025

MY FLATMATE AND MY CRUSH
(Part 5 — When It All Fell Apart)

The next morning, I woke up feeling empty. You know that kind of emptiness that makes food taste like sand? That was me. The room felt colder, even though the usual hostel heat was still there. Amaka’s bed was empty, her wrapper folded at the corner like she didn’t want to leave any sign she was coming back.

I sat on my bunk, hugging my knees, staring at nothing. My phone kept buzzing, but I didn’t have strength to check. I knew the kind of messages waiting there.

By noon, word had spread. That’s the thing about campus — gist travels faster than NEPA light when it comes back. Everywhere I went, I felt eyes on me. Girls whispering, people staring, some pretending not to look but clearly watching me with corner-eye.

At the canteen, I tried to buy food. The smell of fried plantain and stew that usually made my mouth water only made me feel sick. As I was about to pay, two girls at the next table started laughing and one said, loud enough for me to hear, “So this is the Adaeze? She no even fine reach Amaka sef.”

I felt my ears burn with shame. I left the food and walked out, head down.

That evening, I saw Amaka. She came to the room with two other girls — her course mates, I think. She didn’t even look at me. Just packed some of her things, stuffed them into a small travel bag. The girls kept throwing me side-eyes, like I was some cursed object.

I couldn’t take it anymore.

“Amaka, please. I’m sorry. I didn’t plan for any of this to happen. I swear.”

She finally looked at me, and the pain in her eyes cut deep.

“Sorry? Adaeze, you weren’t sorry when you were following my man. You weren’t sorry when you were replying his messages. You weren’t sorry when you let him touch you. What kind of friend does that?”

Her voice cracked. The girls pulled her gently. “Let’s go, leave her. She’s not worth it.”

Before she left, she said one last thing that stayed with me:

“You see this campus? Reputation na everything. But you just threw yours away.”

She moved out that weekend. I was left alone in the room. And that was when the real punishment began. People stopped talking to me. Even people who barely knew me avoided me like bad luck. My course mates stopped saving seats for me in class. Some even removed me from WhatsApp groups.

Chuka? Oh, he tried at first. Texting, calling, begging to explain, saying he missed me. But I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. I hated myself too much to even look at his name.

And then the whispers started changing direction. Word got out that Chuka had moved on — that he was already chasing another girl. And I? I was left with nothing but regret.

Looking back now, I see how foolish I was. How I let small feelings, small attention, small excitement destroy the one friendship I had. The worst part? It wasn’t even worth it. I thought it was love, but it was just fleeting attraction mixed with campus vibes.

If I had just focused on myself, on my books, on building healthy friendships, I would have avoided all this mess. But I let my guard down, and I paid the price.

See ehn, on campus, no matter how fine or sweet or tempting a guy looks, if he’s taken — especially if he belongs to someone close to you — run like your village people are chasing you. No man is worth the wahala of broken trust and ruined reputation. And those small small “harmless” chats or secret glances? They’re the beginning of serious gbege.

I learned the hard way. And if you ever find yourself in my shoes, remember this gist and choose sense over feelings.

THE END
Storytelling Hub With Alex

06/07/2025

MY FLATMATE AND MY CRUSH
(Part 4 — The Breaking Point)

I don’t know how long we sat there, the sound of the rain beating the roof like drum, my hand still in his. The room felt like it was spinning. My heart was racing. I could hear it in my ears louder than the rain. All I had to do was say, “I don’t feel anything for you” and end this madness. But the words refused to come out.

Instead, I just sat there, staring at him, fighting the war inside me. And in that moment of silence, of confusion, of weakness — I didn’t know who moved first — but suddenly his lips were on mine.

It was soft at first. Like a question. Like he was asking for permission with his lips. And stupid, foolish me… I didn’t push him away. I let it happen. My heart, my head, my body — everything was betraying me at once.

Then reality slapped me.

I je**ed back, breathless. “No. Chuka, no! What are we doing? This is wrong. This is so wrong.”

His eyes looked pained, like he was torn too. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me. I just… I couldn’t help it.”

I stood up, my legs shaky, my mind screaming. I felt dirty. I felt ashamed. I felt like crying.

“Please go. Just go before Amaka comes back.”

He left. And as soon as the door closed, I collapsed on my bed and let the tears fall. The rain had stopped, but inside me the storm was just beginning. I felt like I had betrayed Amaka in the worst way. The girl who helped me carry my load, who shared her snacks with me, who introduced me into her small circle — this was how I repaid her?

I couldn’t sleep that night. I kept replaying the scene in my head. I kept hearing his voice. I kept hating myself more and more.

The next morning, Amaka was her usual bubbly self, talking about a class project, laughing, planning for the weekend. Meanwhile, I couldn’t even look her in the eye. I felt like she could see the guilt written all over my face. Every time she mentioned Chuka’s name, my chest tightened.

I decided to avoid him completely. I blocked his number. I stopped going to his apartment, no matter how much Amaka begged. I even stopped hanging out too much with Amaka — I was scared that if I spent too much time with her, my guilt would slip out.

But one evening, as I was coming back from class — after a stressful day of lectures and a surprise test that I probably failed — I saw him.

He was waiting near the hostel gate, leaning against the wall, looking like a scene from a bad romance movie. My heart sank.

“Adaeze, please. Just hear me out,” he said, walking towards me.

I looked around, praying nobody was paying attention. The hostel gate was busy as usual — girls buying boli, guys hanging around, vendors shouting about recharge cards. But in that noisy chaos, it felt like we were in our own bubble.

“What do you want, Chuka? Haven’t you done enough?” I hissed, trying to keep my voice low.

“I just need to explain. I can’t stop thinking about that day. I know you feel something too. Don’t pretend.”

“Chuka, go home. Before somebody sees us. Please,” I begged, panicking.

But before he could answer, I heard it — “See them! Adaeze! Ehn ehn! This is what you’ve been doing behind my back?”

I froze.

It was Amaka.

She must have been coming from the other side, unnoticed. She stood there, eyes wide, face red with anger and betrayal. The boli she was holding fell to the ground, forgotten.

My mouth opened, but no words came out.

Chuka tried to speak, stepping forward. “Amaka, it’s not what you think—”

But she wasn’t having it. “Not what I think? I saw it with my two eyes! You’re even bold enough to be talking to her outside our hostel like this? After all my trust? Adaeze, you of all people? My own roommate? My friend?”

Tears filled her eyes, and my heart broke into a million pieces. People had started gathering. Hostel drama spreads fast. Some girls were whispering, others just watching like it was a movie.

“Amaka, please. Let me explain,” I pleaded, my voice shaking.

But she shook her head, backing away. “Explain what? That you’ve been secretly chasing my man? You’re wicked. God will judge you.”

She turned and walked away, wiping her tears. Chuka just stood there, looking useless.

I felt my legs go weak. I wanted the ground to open and swallow me. I wanted to disappear.

That night was hell. Amaka didn’t come back to the room. I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t stop crying. My phone buzzed with messages — some from Chuka, some from girls I barely knew, either wanting the gist or throwing shade.

And me? I was left sitting on my bed, staring at the cracked walls, asking myself how I managed to ruin the only friendship I had on campus.
To be continued… (Final part loading...)

Storytelling Hub With Alex

05/07/2025

MY FLATMATE AND MY CRUSH
(Part 3 — The Forbidden Spark)

The moment his hand touched mine, I swear, it felt like current passed through my body. My heart started beating so fast that I thought he could hear it. There was this pause — that kind of awkward but charged silence where your mind is screaming, What are you doing?! but your body is betraying you.

I pulled my hand back quickly, stepping away like person wey just see snake.

“Chuka, stop. This isn’t right.” My voice was shaky, but I tried to sound firm. My heart was fighting my sense.

He sighed and leaned back on the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket. The street light flickered above us, casting long shadows.

“I know it’s not right, Adaeze. But I can’t lie to myself. I like you. I’ve tried to fight it. I swear I have. But every time I see you, I feel it more.”

I shook my head, feeling heat rise to my cheeks. “You’re my flatmate’s boyfriend, for God’s sake. Amaka likes you. She trusts you. I can’t do this.”

“And what about how you feel?” he asked, his eyes searching mine.

I swallowed hard, blinking back the stupid tears that were gathering. “It doesn’t matter.” My voice came out like a whisper.

For a moment, we just stood there, the night air heavy around us. The smell of burning firewood from a nearby suya spot mixed with the faint stench from the gutter behind the hostel. I could hear students’ voices from afar — laughter, chatter, life going on — while my own felt like it was on pause.

I turned and walked away before I did something I’d regret. I didn’t look back, even though my heart was pulling me to. I climbed the cracked stairs to our room, hands shaking, mind racing.

That night, as I lay on my bunk, I couldn’t sleep. Amaka came in around 10 p.m., humming one Davido song, clearly in a good mood. She was gisting me about her evening — how Chuka bought her shawarma, how they watched a movie, how sweet he was. I just smiled and nodded, my stomach in knots.

“Adaeze, I swear you must find man o. This your single life no make sense. Look at me — I’m glowing!” she said, twirling in front of the cracked mirror.

I forced a laugh. “I’m fine like this jare.”

But inside, I felt terrible. How did I even allow myself get to this point? How did I become that girl — the one falling for her friend’s man?

I made up my mind: No more replying his texts. No more secret meetings. No more entertaining temptation.

The next week was a battle. Chuka didn’t stop trying. He would send me random messages:

Chuka: “Hope you ate today?”

Chuka: “Saw you from afar. You looked really pretty.”

Chuka: “I miss talking to you.”

And the worst part? He started finding excuses to come around. He’d bring Amaka to the hostel but stay longer than necessary, hanging around outside, waiting for a chance to catch my eye or say something sly.

One day, during a heavy downpour, NEPA struck as usual, and I was stuck inside the hostel, trying to read with torchlight. The smell of wet earth and damp clothes filled the air. The rain beat hard against the zinc roof, drowning out most other sounds.

My phone buzzed.

Chuka: “I’m outside. I came to see Amaka, but she’s not picking. Can I wait with you till the rain stops?”

I stared at the message, heart pounding. No, Adaeze. Don’t do it.

But five minutes later, my foolishness opened the door for him.

He stepped in, shaking water off his hoodie, hair dripping. Even soaked, he looked like trouble. I tried to act cold, sitting at the edge of my bed, pretending to focus on my notes.

“Thanks for letting me in,” he said softly, standing awkwardly near the door.

The small room felt even smaller. The smell of his cologne mixed with the musty hostel air, making my head spin. The rain roared outside, making it feel like we were in our own little world.

Minutes passed. We barely spoke, just stolen glances and unspoken words. But the tension was thick — the kind you could cut with cutlass.

Then he moved closer. Sat on Amaka’s bunk. Our knees were almost touching.

“Adaeze…” he began, voice low, “I can’t keep pretending. I really like you. I’ve never felt this way before.”

I felt tears prick my eyes — from confusion, from guilt, from wanting what I knew I shouldn’t. “Stop, Chuka. Please stop.” My voice broke.

But he didn’t stop. His hand found mine again. This time, I didn’t pull away immediately.

“Just tell me you don’t feel anything for me and I’ll leave you alone forever.” His eyes locked on mine.

And there it was. The question I had been running from. The truth that could either set me free or trap me deeper.
To be continued… (Part 4 loading...)

Storytelling Hub With Alex

05/07/2025

MY FLATMATE AND MY CRUSH
(Part 2 — Inside the Web)

That night after we got back to the hostel, I couldn’t sleep. I just lay on my bunk, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the buzz of mosquitoes and the far-off sound of boys arguing near the campus gate. My body was hot, not because of NEPA wahala — though as usual, light had gone since evening — but because my mind was boiling. How did I end up here? How did I, Adaeze, manage to crush on my flatmate’s boyfriend?

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them — Amaka cuddled beside him on that faded couch, laughing as he fed her suya, whispering in her ear. And I? I was just the spare tyre watching from the corner like a mumu. God, why? I sighed and turned to the wall, trying to force myself to sleep.

The next few days were like torture. Amaka wouldn’t stop talking about him.

“Babe, Chuka this... Chuka that… Chuka said I look sexy in this dress… Chuka wants me to braid my hair… Chuka, Chuka, Chuka…”

Every time she mentioned his name, my heart pinched small small. I tried to act normal, even giving her fake smiles when she showed me his chats or when she played his voice notes out loud. But inside me, I felt somehow. I knew it was wrong, I knew I shouldn’t feel that way — but my feelings didn’t care about right or wrong.

The worst part? He started noticing me.

I began seeing him more often — he would come to our hostel gate to pick her up, and sometimes, his eyes would linger on me a little too long. Once, as they were leaving, Amaka dashed back inside to grab her charger, and it was just him and me at the gate.

He smiled that small, confident smile and said, “You don’t talk much, do you?”

My throat dried. I managed to reply, “I do… when necessary.” Then I looked away before my legs gave way.

When Amaka came back out, she didn’t suspect anything. But from that day, I knew I was in trouble.

It started small. Whenever they invited me over to Chuka’s place, I would go — partly because I didn’t want to look suspicious, partly because I couldn’t resist seeing him. And each time, he found a way to talk to me when Amaka wasn’t looking.

Once, at his place, while Amaka was in the kitchen helping to dish food, Chuka came and sat beside me. The small space between us felt like it was burning.

“So, Adaeze, tell me… how do you manage to stay so calm? You always look like you’re thinking deep things.”

My heart raced. I looked at him and saw that glint in his eye — that one that made girls fall yakata. I forced a smile. “Maybe I am.”

Before he could say more, Amaka returned, and he shifted like nothing happened.

But it didn’t stop there. The stolen glances, the casual compliments, the way he would find reasons to text me when he somehow got my number from Amaka’s phone. And stupid me, I didn’t block him. I replied sometimes. Just innocent replies, I told myself. Just vibes. But I knew deep down that it was dangerous.

One night, I sat outside the hostel on the corridor, trying to clear my head. The air smelt of wet sand — it had just drizzled — and the moonlight made the cracked walls of the hostel look almost beautiful. I stared out at the empty football field where boys usually played, thinking of how messy everything was becoming.

What kind of girl am I? Crushing on my flatmate’s man? Entertaining his attention? I felt ashamed. But at the same time, I couldn’t deny how my heart beat when I saw him.

That night, I decided I would distance myself. I would stop going over to their apartment. I would focus on my studies. I would avoid him. I even told myself I would start attending fellowship seriously.

But as I was making this holy vow to myself, guess who texted?

Chuka: Hey. Can we talk? Just me and you. Nothing serious. Please?

My chest tightened. I knew what I should do — I should ignore him. But my finger hovered over the reply button. And like the mumu I was, I typed:

“About what?”

He replied almost immediately. “About us. About how I feel.”

That was the night I knew I had stepped inside the web fully.

The next day, I tried to avoid Amaka as much as I could. I left for class early — even though I had only one lecture — and stayed back at the library, pretending to read. But my mind was not in the book. I kept thinking about his message, about what he wanted to say.

In the evening, as I was returning, my phone buzzed.

Chuka: Come to the back of Emerald Hostel. I just want to talk for a few minutes. Please.

I paused at the hostel gate, heart racing. The breeze carried the smell of fried plantain from the nearby canteen, and somewhere, a generator coughed to life. I looked around, as if someone could see my thoughts.

Something told me to go upstairs and lock my door. But curiosity — and foolishness — pushed my legs. I found myself walking to the back of the hostel, heart thumping.

And there he was, leaning on the wall, looking like temptation itself in a black hoodie. When he saw me, he smiled softly.

“Thanks for coming.”

I swallowed hard. “What’s so important, Chuka?”

He stepped closer. “Adaeze… I can’t stop thinking about you.”

My breath hitched. Before I could even process what was happening, he gently took my hand.... (To be continued…)

Storytelling Hub With Alex

05/07/2025

MY FLATMATE AND MY CRUSH
(Part 1 — The Beginning of Wahala)

I don’t know if it’s village people or my own mumu, but see how my life just started to scatter small small. It all began the very day I moved into Emerald Girls Hostel — that old three-storey building inside UNIBEN campus that looks fine from far but is actually suffering when you enter. I was so excited, thinking my university life was about to be like all those TikTok vlogs I used to watch. Omo, I didn’t know I was signing up for premium tears.

The day I moved in ehn, the sun no get mercy. I was sweating like Christmas goat as I dragged my Ghana-Must-Go up the cracked staircase. The corridor smelt of indomie, always-indomie, mixed with dust and that hostel toilet smell that just hides in the air. My room, C5, was upstairs, second floor, third door on the right. When I finally pushed the creaky door open, my eyes met her — Amaka.

Amaka, my flatmate, was seated on the lower bunk, her long braids tied up, face buried inside a mirror as she applied lip gloss like person going for Big Brother audition. She looked up, smiled small, and said, “Hey babe, you’re welcome. I’m Amaka. Need help?”

I forced a smile, trying to hide my tiredness. “Thanks, I’m Adaeze.”

She helped me arrange my mattress on the upper bunk and gist started flowing. That’s one thing about Amaka — she can talk for Africa. In thirty minutes, I knew her department (Mass Comm), her boyfriend’s name (Chuka), how her last roommate was “too local,” and how she was planning to join campus politics. I just dey nod like agama lizard. I no sabi anybody yet, and I was still trying to settle in.

That first night, I couldn’t sleep. The room was hot, like we were inside oven. The ceiling fan just dey turn for beauty; no breeze. Outside, I could hear the hum of generator from the nearby boy’s hostel, mixed with shouting boys arguing about football. Mosquitoes were hosting concert around my ears. God abeg, I muttered, covering my legs with wrapper and using my hand to fan my face.

But see where the real story began — the next morning.

It was a Wednesday, and I was rushing for my 8 a.m. GST class at FSS Lecture Theatre. The sun never rise finish but heat don already start. I was wearing my best jeans and a white top because, you know, first impression matters. As I dey waka near the faculty, clutching my jotter, my eyes jammed him.

Tall, dark, fine like all those Nollywood bad boys. His skin was smooth, teeth white. He wore a simple black T-shirt and jeans, but somehow e fit him like designer. Omo, my heart did one gbim gbim.

He was standing with some guys under one mango tree near the theatre, laughing. The way breeze just carried his cologne my direction, I weak. I didn’t know when I started adjusting my top and smoothing my hair. But before I could arrange myself well, our eyes met. My village people were on duty that morning because I froze like mumu.

He smiled — that kind of small confident smile — and I felt my stomach do backflip. I quickly faced front and hurried into class before I embarrassed my ancestors. Throughout that lecture, I no hear anything. The lecturer was talking about Communication in English or something, but my head was playing romantic movie.

That evening, I came back to find Amaka in the room, pressing her phone and giggling like somebody reading sweet gist.

“Adaeze, come o! I didn’t even ask you, how was your first class?” she asked, eyes still glued to her phone.

I laughed. “It was okay jare. I’m still trying to settle in.”

Then she dropped the bomb: “See, I want to introduce you to my boo. Maybe during weekend we can all hang out. You’ll like him — Chuka is fine ehn! And he has a cute friend too, you’ll see!”

Something inside me just shouted Amen! Maybe, just maybe, that cute friend she was talking about was my mango-tree crush. But I didn’t want to act desperate, so I just smiled. “That sounds fun.”

Days passed. I started noticing something strange. Every evening, Amaka would dress up and say she was going to Chuka’s place. She would stay out till late, and when she returned, she would act overly sweet to me — buying me meat pie, offering me her body mist, or randomly complimenting my hair. At first, I thought it was just her way. But one night, as she was getting ready to go out, her phone rang. She picked and said sweetly, “Baby, I’m coming now. Hope your friend is there too? That one that’s always looking like he owns the world…”

My ear stood. Friend? Owns the world? Something told me she was talking about my crush.

The next Saturday, she finally invited me. She said, “Let’s go to Chuka’s off-campus apartment. They’re cooking and chilling. You’ll meet his friend too.”

My heart beat fast. Could it be him? My mango-tree fine boy?

When we reached Chuka’s apartment — that typical off-campus boys' flat with loud music, smell of w**d mixed with fried stew, and mattress on the floor — I stepped in, my eyes searching. And there he was. Same black shirt, same confident smile, seated on the couch like king of the boys. My mango-tree crush.

But as I stepped forward, heart dancing with excitement, Amaka ran ahead, sat beside him, and pecked him on the cheek.

“Baby, meet my new roommate Adaeze.”

My chest tightened. Baby?

So Amaka’s boyfriend was my mango-tree crush.

And that’s when my wahala truly started.

(Hold on for Part 2👉)
Storytelling Hub With Alex

18/06/2025

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Welcome to Scars and Strengths – Where Pain Meets Purpose.Here, we share raw, powerful, and inspiring stories that highlight the beauty of resilience, the le...

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Welcome to Scars and Strengths – Where Pain Meets Purpose.Here, we share raw, powerful, and inspiring stories that highlight the beauty of resilience, the le...

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Welcome to Scars and Strengths – Where Pain Meets Purpose.Here, we share raw, powerful, and inspiring stories that highlight the beauty of resilience, the le...

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Welcome to Scars and Strengths – Where Pain Meets Purpose.Here, we share raw, powerful, and inspiring stories that highlight the beauty of resilience, the le...